


Vowels

by dragonsong (NekoAisu)



Series: Commissioned Works [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV, Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Flirting, Gift Fic, Gift Work, Love Confessions, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:15:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22918312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NekoAisu/pseuds/dragonsong
Summary: Z’ahra sucks in a sharp breath. She is proud to say that she does not, in fact, squeak when she says, “You care for me?”“Yes.”“As more than a companion?”Ignis looks like her questions physically pain him. “Yes.”
Relationships: Ignis Scientia/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Commissioned Works [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2011288
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Vowels

**Author's Note:**

  * For [XionNight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/XionNight/gifts).



> Public release of a piece written for XionNight! Their OC Z'ahra is a joy to write with ;;w;; Thank you for letting me work with her <3

Of all the arguments to be having at the break of dawn, Ignis was not prepared for Z’ahra to hiss, “You cannot simply say a Seeker’s name like that!”

“What is the harm,” he asks, raising an eyebrow at the state of her puffed-up tail, “in having omitted a letter?” She does not stomp or throw any type of outward tantrum, but he has known her long enough to recognize the flustered flicking of her ears. He had not said it to be  _ rude _ ─Astrals know she would have left him more than singed had it been less than accidental─but her reaction had him curious. What was so terrible about him mumbling her name and forgetting the all-important “Z” she has not taken issue with?

“It’s for  _ lovers,”  _ Z’ahra says, color high on her cheeks, “and family. Not friends. Friends use full names.”

Ignis flushes from ear to ear. He is not sure his mortified “ah” makes it out of his mouth when he turns to drink his coffee and ignore that which will haunt him for many a coming day. He had… not intended that. He was not at all  _ averse  _ to such a relationship (with Z’ahra, especially) but that is still more than overstepping. It was more like a  _ leap.  _

“Are you quite well?”

He clears his throat and takes another sip of coffee before attempting the trial of eye contact. “My apologies, Z’ahra. I was unaware that I had misspoken until you told me.”

“Lack of coherency before coffee aside, I understand that Eos has different customs,” she replies, settling stiffly down in a camp chair and staring at the remnants of last night’s fire. “Your apology is appreciated, Ignis.”

They lapse into silence. It isn’t quite awkward but it carries uncomfortable tension nonetheless. It is only once Ignis sets eggs to frying that Z’ahra speaks up. 

“What does that say?” She points to the rapidly scribbled recipe card taped to the side of the camp table (safely away from the butane burner). 

Ignis glances at it and huffs a soft laugh. There is levity coloring his voice when he says, “Whether or not you struggled with Crown Common, Gladiolus’s notes are far from legible. His Is and Ys and Ts all seem to blend together at times.”

“So it is not common for F to be next to…” She squints, adjusting her glasses as if they could unscramble Gladiolus’s close-set scribbles, and asks, “Is that A or U?”

Ignis shrugs. “I would he happy to get to know  _ U─” _

“Oh, I wandered into that one.”

He laughs and someone within the tent grumbles loudly at the sound. Z’ahra snorts. 

“That you did.”

She turns toward the sun, smiling softly at the slowly spreading wash of color its light brings. “Sunrise is different here. No less good, though.”

“Has Prompto shown you his photographs from within the Crown City? You may find the Wall at night rather captivating.”

Z’ahra shakes her head. “I am not wont to ask about that which is painful. He does not seem particularly comfortable airing such things.” She pauses to take a deep breath, eyes closing and shoulders relaxing, before breathing it out slowly. “That we may spend many more peaceful mornings like this…”

The tent zipper cuts through the tranquil atmosphere sharply. “I hope your peace won’t be too disturbed by company?”

“Good morning, Gladiolus,” Z’ahra greets. “Ignis was keeping me company.”

The man laughs quietly, eyes twinkling, and asks, “So you  _ weren’t  _ talking about getting to know each other?”

Ignis, to his benefit, has known Gladiolus for more than half of his lifetime and can very easily say, “We were talking about  _ vowels.” _

Z’ahra blinks slowly and tacks on, “Yes. Getting to know, ah,  _ U,  _ was it? You have very confusing penmanship.”

They very quickly devolve into jabs and less than quiet conversation. 

When the tent opens next, it’s for a very bleary-eyed Prompto. He shoves hair from his eyes (though it does little to tame the near-explosive mess along the sides) and asks, “How long have you, uh, been up? It’s really early.”

“Ah, Prompto,” Ignis greets, “good morning. It’s just past six.”

Prompto wrinkles his nose. “The sun is barely up and his highness elbowed me in the gut in place of, y’know, a regular,  _ non-painful _ wake-up call.”

Gladiolus laughs, standing from his camp chair to pat Prompto on the back in solidarity. “Mornin’. He gets everyone eventually.”

Z’ahra grimaces at the memory of Noctis unceremoniously kicking her back while absolutely, positively, one hundred percent asleep. She had been very tempted to charge his sleeping bag with electricity (his hair would have been funny), but thought better of it. Y’jhimei would never stop worrying if she was casting while sleepy. 

They move on from early-morning gripes to preparing breakfast and beginning to break camp, Noctis being kicked from the tent so Prompto and Z’ahra can roll up the sleeping bags and put away the lantern. Gladiolus cackles when Noctis shuffles over to a camp chair and sits down with all the grace and poise of an inebriated garula. They pass things to him one at a time and many an item is turned to blue sparks by his gods-given power. Z’ahra is not sure she can adjust to him putting things into some invisible pocket dimension, much less the entirety of a large camp cooler. Noctis flicks his hand up and comes away with a bag of chips. 

It is a terrifying power, truly, but she cannot find it in herself to be scared when he uses it for things like storing  _ snacks.  _

Ignis sighs, saying, “I do suggest you save those for later, Noct. The drive to Lestallum will be a long one.” 

Prompto groans loudly, voice the barest tone away from a whine when he asks, “Do we  _ have  _ to?”

“You know the answer as well as I,” Ignis replies, laughter coloring his words. “Though we will certainly be taking our time resting at the Leville.” 

Z’ahra knows that Prompto does not mean his complaint in a bad way. He takes their trip just as seriously as any other (if not moreso) and his dedication is well understood. He is not looking forward to the leg cramps said trip likes to impart. 

Truth be told, neither is she.

Ignis calls them over for breakfast─a wax-paper wrapped sandwich for eating once they’re all in the Regalia─once their camp supplies have nearly all been put away or packed. The few things Noctis cannot manage to shove into his Armiger are toted to the car and safely stowed in the trunk. They all settle into their usual spots, Z’ahra settling into the passenger side and fiddling with her seatbelt to get the strap untwisted. 

Ignis starts the car and they pull off the dirt and onto the road, beginning the trip to Lestallum. Z’ahra turns on the radio, tuning it to the weather. The deejay’s voice is crisp against the morning’s quiet. All sun and no rain, a perfect day to drive with the top down. 

They are an hour into the drive, sandwiches consumed and Noctis’s bag of chips thoroughly emptied, when Z’ahra asks, “We are journeying to Lestallum, yes?”

Ignis nods, not taking his eyes off the country road for fear of missing a bend. 

“And we are to have a message decoded from… what was it? Imperial code?”

“Gralean Imperial Code, yeah,” Prompto says. He grimaces. “That and checking to see how many Glaives actually made it to Lestallum after the fall of the Crown City.”

They lapse into silence. It isn’t  _ tense,  _ per se, but rather reverent. Whenever Insomnia is brought up, it is met with sadness or fury, either reaction always accompanied by guilt. Z’ahra wishes she could soothe their minds somewhat, but is more than aware that it is also none of her burden to bear. She settles on changing the radio to something soothing, some soft pop tune she recognizes from Prompto’s humming and tapping at camp. 

The next few hours blend together. They talk, they laugh, they make use of Noctis’s snack stash, and Ignis tells a good number of jokes to keep them all entertained. It’s after their third round of punch-buggy that they stop to simply look around. The countryside all blended together after a while, but the view from the bridge to Lestallum was  _ incredible.  _

Z’ahra places her hands on the top of the windshield and stands up, holding on to keep her balance while Ignis worriedly says, “I advise you stay seated. Standing like that is rather dangerous.”

She does not heed his warning. The crystalline structures lining the ravine form bridges and jagged patterns not unlike the curling of rib bones. She peers as far as she can to see if she can spot the bottom, but the wind whips her hair into her eyes instead. She pushes it out of the way with one hand, adjusting her glasses and trying again. It takes some straining and a little bit of precarious fumbling before she manages to tuck her hair down under her robes and hold her glasses in place, gazing out at the land before her. 

It is so different from Eorzea, but still ever so slightly familiar. She is happy to be in Eos. To see the sights and hear the sounds. To meet the  _ people.  _

Though she would not outwardly admit it as such, her favorite is Ignis. 

She knows her affection for him is a step beyond companionship or that of newfound friendship, but would not dare call it  _ love.  _ She… is not sure what she would do, if she called it that. Love is a powerful thing and she has no want to trifle with it.

She sits back down as they approach the tunnel, sunlight casting harsh shadows between the carved openings along the highway. Prompto taps her on the shoulder and shows her some photos of the gorge he took while she was experiencing the view. There are a few at the end where she has a hand up in front of her face, shielding her eyes from the sun and looking out, smiling ever so slightly in awe and enjoyment. 

He laughs when she pats her head, checking to see if her hair is truly as messy as it was in the photo, and her ears fold downward in disappointment to find that yes, her hair─nearly every ilm of it─is in disarray. Ignis takes a hand off the steering wheel to pass her a comb. 

She looks at it and then at him before asking, “Is this how your hair stays like that after a drive?”

“The communal comb,” Gladiolus says without looking, nose-deep in a book, “is  _ exactly  _ how him and His Highness keep their hair lookin’ like that.”

“Ah,” she replies eloquently. “Thank you.”

It takes about a quarter of a bell before they pull into a small parking lot. Ignis backs into a space and smiles. Prompto cheers, climbing over Noctis to get out of the car and stretch because “I think my butt is numb” and the only way to solve that is by vigorously shaking out his legs. 

Ignis and Gladiolus are more reserved but no less thankful to have the drive over with. Noctis stands and his back makes a series of sounds not unlike the snapping of twigs. Z’ahra is not sure that is normal.

They wander into the city, Gladiolus cutting over to the Leville to seek out his younger sister, Iris, and see if Jared is familiar with Gralean Imperial Code. Ignis replenishes their curatives and strikes up conversation with those of the Kingsglaive he is able to find within the makeshift refugee district. Noctis heads up to the inn room to (presumably) nap. Z’ahra can’t fault him for it. Long drives leave her just as antsy as she is fatigued. Prompto pulls her along to the market to pick up supplies that Ignis texted him. 

They bargain and barter, Prompto picking up a miniature Cactuar figurine for Talcott on the way back to the hotel. They grab a room key from Gladiolus and set the groceries on the room’s coffee table.

“I’m gonna shower,” Prompto says, grabbing a change of clothes from one of the bags Noctis had sat by the beds. “Ignis should be out for a few more hours, if you want to keep exploring.” 

“I will, thank you,” she replies. 

He nods and heads into the restroom. Z’ahra leaves the room key with them, knowing they will still be there when she and ignis return. 

The streets are lively and every other corner is filled with music. She taps her feet on the way out toward the power plant. She finds Ignis talking with a woman whose voice carries farther than likely intended. “─so the best place to take that would be old Sophiar. He can fix it right up, so long as you don’t give him reason to grouch at you.”

Ignis replies and Z’ahra catches maybe half a word before he spots her and smiles. “Z’ahra, what a lovely surprise.”

She walks up next to him and nods at the woman he had been talking to. 

“This the friend you were talking about? Name’s Holly,” the woman says, holding out a hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Z’ahra,” she replies. “The pleasure is mine.” She takes the offered hand and shakes it. Holly smiles. 

“I’ll let you two be. Break will be over in a minute and I have to get back to it.”

Ignis bids her goodbye and Z’ahra follows, waving as they walk away. The sun beats down from its place slowly sliding toward the horizon and Ignis fans himself with a hand. 

Z’ahra is comfortable, but she attributes it to her homeland having far harsher summers. They stop in the shade of an alleyway and Ignis wipes sweat from his brow. They take a short route back to the Leville, stopping at a food stand for some frozen watermelon slices. 

They talk about the differences between popotoes and potatoes on the way, Z’ahra asserting that no, you cannot simply replace Eorzean pearl ginger with Eos’s galangal root. The conversation continues on even after reaching the hotel and setting out things for dinner. Ignis puts together a quick salad to go with the skewers Gladiolus brought back, washing the cutting board and knife in the bathroom sink for lack of a kitchenette. 

The evening eases onward. They play cards. They change into pajamas. They sleep. They wake and a new day begins. 

Gladiolus says they have to wait for a Glaive to get back to them on the code, so they book a couple more days. Prompto and Noctis leave to go on a small photo expedition and come back with three completed hunt rewards, Ignis buys one of every spice available at market, and Iris takes Z’ahra on a grand tour of all that Lestallum has to offer. They eat out for dinner and Ignis remarks that the band playing in the plaza would be fun to dance to. Z’ahra blinks. “What type of dance?”

“Bolero or danzón, mostly,” he answers. “Though I know neither.”

Z’ahra stands and holds out a hand. “Dance with me,” she says, tail flicking in excitement. “I do not know either, so we can learn together.”

Ignis takes her hand and they step away from the table. He leads her through a few basic steps from what he had seen other couples doing (and a few unorthodox adaptations from the Lucian Royal Waltz) before they give it a try. Z’ahra laughs when he accidentally steps on her foot, joking that she will surely do the same to him at some point. After a couple songs, she insists on teaching him one of the dances she knows. 

“It is simple,” she says, running through a demonstration. “Three steps out, left arm, three steps in, turn, repeat in the other direction!”

Ignis watches her movements before commenting, “You are very graceful.”

Her ears flick toward him and her tail swishes. “Thank you,” she replies, attempting to not seem suspiciously happy over the compliment. “Try it with me?”

He does, though it takes a little fumbling. They sync up after a few tries, steps in time and arms no longer bumping. Z’ahra smiles at him and he loses count, tripping a little and laughing it off. 

They call it a night after a little more, the moon rising to worrying heights (saying that they should have already been in bed with how late it has become). “What is that called? The dance you taught me,” Ignis asks. 

“It is from Thavnair,” she answers, “and I do not know the true name. It is something I learned from others of my tribe.”

“Tell me about them?”

She nods and begins a series of stories until they arrive at the Leville. “I will leave it at that for the night,” she says, tone light. “We will have time tomorrow.”

And she is right. The following day finds them bickering over ingredients again while trying to recreate  _ papanasi  _ without having any of the ingredients Z’ahra is used to working with. They end up with a pile of sweet, fried doughnuts and a lack of a satisfactory rolanberry-adjacent sauce to put with it. Strawberries are good, cherries are lovely, but nothing tastes quite right. Noctis and Gladiolus have no qualms about fruit-related dissonance when tearing through the dessert.

They get the decoded missive back in the evening and spend another few hours dancing afterward. As worrying as the movement of Niflheimr troops can be, they are not wont to waste what time they have to rest and enjoy each other’s company. 

It is after one particularly charged bell that they stop to rest. Ignis opens his mouth before closing it again. For a man who is known to have a measured mind and decisive nature, his nervousness is unsettling. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Ignis says, hands fighting slightly in his lap, “though less than confident.”

Z’ahra frowns. “Is aught amiss?”

He shakes his head before taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. He turns to her, serious as she has ever seen him, and says, “I apologize if this places strain on our relationship. I… I care for you as more than a simple companion and did not want to keep that from you. Whether you choose to accept or reject my affections, I hope we can still be friends.”

Z’ahra sucks in a sharp breath. She is proud to say that she does not, in fact, squeak when she says, “You care for me?”

“Yes.”

“As more than a companion?”

Ignis looks like her questions physically pain him. “Yes,” he repeats. “I apologize if this makes you uncomfortable.”

Z’ahra startles, tail puffing up in shock because “I would not be made uncomfortable by having my feelings reciprocated, Ignis. I adore you.”

“Oh.”

They both fumble for words before she asks, “So, if you like me and I like you… does that mean we are partners?”

Ignis nods, following up the affirmation with a relieved reply of, “We can be whatever makes you most comfortable. We do not have to be partners immediately, if at all. I am happy to simply enjoy your company as I always have.”

“I would like that, the taking our time,” she says, smiling. “I enjoy that which I have spent with you. I do not believe we would be served well by hurrying.” She pauses, smile turning a little mischievous, and asks, “May I have a kiss, though?”

He laughs, the sound soft and happy. “Of course.”

They shift a little closer, Ignis’s cheeks flushing with color. The kiss is short and hesitant, a soft show of affection. Z’ahra leans in and steals another for good measure. 

“Thank you,” she says. 

Ignis smiles and says, “Anytime.”

They talk about everything and nothing for a while, letting their nerves settle, before Z’ahra brings up her home. “You have my loyalty, Ignis. I know you will not mistreat it. I am not sure what I would choose, if forced to pick between my home and Eos, but… that is something I can take my time on as well.”

“And I would never ask that of you,” he says. “It would be more than unfair to you.”

She laces her fingers with his and looks down at their intertwined hands. “I wonder what Azeyma was thinking to bless me with someone so wonderful as you.”

“I could ask Shiva the same.”

Z’ahra blinks. Her voice is teasing when she asks, “Shiva is your goddess of love? Is that why she is so scantily clad?”

“That is her secondary domain,” Ignis explains, “and it started like this…”

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on:  
> tumblr ─ https://ffxivimagines.tumblr.com/  
> twitter ─ twitter.com/khirimochi  
> discord ─ NekoAisu#7099


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